


fill it up + throw it down

by mymostimaginaryfriend



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Teamwork makes the dream work, bolivia AU, jeresa if you squint, part one: swearing, part two: a shit ton of swearing, shots shots shots shots shots shots (everybody)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymostimaginaryfriend/pseuds/mymostimaginaryfriend
Summary: a bolivia drabble two-for-one special.  first up happy hour.  second up scrappy hour.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: You should work on one of your five Jeresa WIPs.
> 
> Also me: OR! And hear me out—You could write that King George Bolivia AU happy hour scene NO ONE ASKED FOR.
> 
> Guess what.

Now he didn’t like to brag, but George Megalos was something of a reality show connoisseur. In fact, something like 80% of his DVR space was devoted to that fine art of fame whoring. The other 20% you ask? Gilmore Girls reruns. What could he say? He had a weakness for witty banter in scenic New England locales. (Team Jess, natch.)

But reality shows? They were his bread and butter. Kardashians, Real Housewives, Vanderpump Rules, you name it. He watched it. The whole crew had their favorites--Bilal was a Great British Bakeoff fan himself but George tended to gravitate toward the more farcical dramas of the human experience: the petty grievances and base desires. After all these years he considered himself something of an expert when it came to the broad spectrum of human emotion and all the manipulations that came with it.

You might say he was uniquely qualified to recognize the reality show come to life that currently stood before him.

The Vargas crew had come into town early for their El Santo meet but had gotten pushed off for a few days by their connect. The normal “dance, puppet, dance” shit of those Machiavellian cult leader types. So predictable. So tedious. George hadn’t gotten into this business to be bored and he was getting dangerously close to it with all of this nonsense.

Predictably, the Dream Team had come crawling to the sunshine of his benevolence begging for an extension. At first he was tempted to bail. This whole thing had been hinky enough from the start, dragging it out would just make everything messier, and not in a fun way. Part of being King was knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em but just as he was about to pull a Kenny Rogers and skedaddle to greener pastures, he got a load of the dynamic duo turned tense-as-shit trio and saw an opportunity he couldn’t resist.

When Camila had requested three passports to get her crew through the border, George had thought nothing of it. But now...now he had a few questions. Namely---

“Who’s the new guy?”

His little inquiry only seemed to wind the tension tighter. Teresa’s face was carefully clear of any emotion but he didn’t miss how her hands clenched into fists at her sides. James’ posture was so rigid his shoulders were nearly up to his ears. Contestant #3 opened his mouth to answer but then thought better of it, deferring to Teresa instead.

Her voice was even as she replied, “This is Guero. Guero Davila.”

 _Well shit_. If he remembered correctly, last anyone had heard of the pilot, a fine mist of his essential organs had been decorating a tarmac in Mexico. One would think a phoenix arisen from the ashes would look more, well, transcendent than the man in front of him. Instead he resembled something the cat would drag in. A cat on his seventh or eighth life, no doubt.

George whistled. “Back from the dead. Quite the party trick. How’d you manage that?”

“He had some help,” James answered, the disdain that dripped from his voice earning a sharp glance from Teresa.

George raised an eyebrow and tucked that info away as he considered the trio standing before him: James motionless but for the staccato tap, tap, tap of his fingers against his thumb. New guy’s eyes ping-ponging back and forth between Teresa and James. Teresa steadfastly avoiding looking at either of them as she focused imploringly on George. “Can we push the deadline back a few days?”

He sighed. Damn his soft heart and penchant for drama. He wasn’t sure which was the deciding factor in this case but fact was he owed them a chance after they cleaned up his Rolondo debacle. Plus, as he had bemoaned before, he was getting bored. And this? This could fill in nicely for his lack of DVR access in Bolivia.

So he’d made a little show of thinking it over and looked at his watch. “Tell you what, how about we move this discussion elsewhere. I know just the place.” 

And here they were, posted up at one of the most touristy of tourist trap bars in La Paz just in time for happy hour. Call it professional intuition, but George sensed adding alcohol to the mix could only benefit his quest for enlightenment and entertainment. Live every week like it’s sweeps week he always said. No one would blame him for pushing a few buttons would they? Pour some gasoline on the fire and wait for the fireworks to explode.

“Where y’all staying? You got a pool at your hotel? Need to borrow a speedo, Baby Chapo?”

James narrowed his eyes at him, chewing on a straw. Soldier boy was nursing his drink a little too slowly for George’s taste. He’d have to tread carefully.

Unperturbed by James’ lack of response, George turned casually to Guero. “Believe it or not I met these two in nothing but a robe and a gold lamé speedo. You know what, it came up in my Timehop memories today, wanna see? Remember that, Bonnie and Clyde?”

“I’m still trying to forget,” James muttered and Teresa hid a twitch of her lips behind her drink. She’d thankfully been a little more generous in her alcohol intake than James. Baby girl clearly needed a break if all she’d had for company were Dumb and Dumber here.

“Bet if I’d gotten Teresa in a King George bikini you’d remember just fine,” George commented slyly not looking up from scrolling through his phone before continuing conversationally to Guero. “Sadly, we all struck out in that department. Even sex gods have an off day, I suppose. A little balance in the universe and what not.”

Guero was too busy watching his compadres for the words to sink in right away but the hook had been baited, George just had to wait for a bite.

“Wait, what?” Guero asked and George made sure to keep his face blandly pleasant as he gave the line a little tug.

“Not my finest moment, I admit. I’m sorry James, didn’t know she was spoken for.”

Guero didn’t even try to hide the scowl on his face while James just sighed and threw back the rest of his drink. George avoided Teresa’s eyes. He was too busy testing out pressure points like whack-a-mole to be slowed down by something like a little twinge of guilt now.

“Or wait, is it Guero I owe the apology to? I feel like I need a Cliffs Notes for this telenovela—”

“Apologizing to me is fine, thanks,” Teresa cut in, looking more exasperated than charmed. Despite himself he felt a smidgen chagrined. He was beginning to develop a damned weak spot for the half pint with courage larger than Texas itself.

"My bad."

“You call that an apology?”

He tipped an imaginary hat in recognition, tickled by her tenacity. “Please accept my humble—and you know how hard that is for me—apologies, Miss Mendoza.”

She pursed her lips to avoid smiling back but he saw it. He’d have to count that as a win for now. Especially because he had flyboy over here tangled in his puppet strings already. George decided to give that particular tactic a rest for the time being, let the love birds unruffle their feathers. He clapped his hands and decided on a new game plan. “More shots?”

The group groaned but Bilal—bless his heart—cheered and his vote counted more than the rest of this sorry ass table combined. “Shots it is!”

“Shouldn’t we be talking strategy?” Teresa asked, causing James to perk up because _of course_. He logically knew that somewhere, beyond the giant stick up his ass, GI James here knew how to have fun. Someone who’d seen as much action as James definitely had participated in his fair share of shenanigans. But until George actually witnessed the man even cracking a smile, he was going to treat the possibility like an urban legend.

“What do you know about El Santo, George?”

He barely suppressed a full body shudder and hissed, “Enough not to throw that name around in public that’s for damn sure. Better to err on the side of Voldemort if you catch my drift.”

A matching set of blank stares answered his warning. “Are you kidding me? He-who-must-not-be-named? Nothing? Buncha philistines.”

“Nah, nah I know this one,” Guero spoke up as the waitress lined a row of tequila shots across the high top. “The wizard right? Harry Potter.”

George picked a shot glass up and gestured for them to do the same. “Ten points for...Hufflepuff? What do you think Bilal?”

“He wishes,” Bilal laughed and George snickered in agreement. He turned to the rest of the table and raised his glass, stubbornly waiting until the Vargas clan knocked theirs back to finish his. He slammed his shot glass down and got serious for a second. “A piece of free advice: his followers are everywhere and not all of them wear those creepy ass masks to helpfully identify themselves. Just watch yourselves is all.”

“Masks?” James asked making a face like he was half convinced George was just making shit up.

“Oh, you don’t know about those? Y’all just flying by the seat of your pants or what? How well do you know your connect?”

Everyone turned to look at Guero who shuffled in his seat a bit before saying, “We go way back. They’ll come through.”

“Anyone I’d know?” George felt compelled to ask.

“Doubt it,” Guero shrugged and signaled the waitress for another round.

Teresa turned to James and frowned. “Maybe we should have prepared differently. Thought more outside the box. Did you bring any of your…” her voice trailed off like she couldn’t think of a word, waving her hands to fill in the blank. “You know that woo-woo... stuff you had.”

George nearly choked on his margarita. James’ face alone would be worth the cost of tonight’s bar tab.

“What stuff?” James asked, turning on his stool toward Teresa with what almost-- _almost_ \--looked like an amused expression.

Teresa huffed and tried again. “You know the---shit...what’s it called, not black magic--”

“Ooh wee!” George crowed in delight. “Woo-woo black magic. James you dirty dog. Anything you wanna share with the class? Don’t hold back now.”

Teresa grimaced and Guero reached for her drink. “That’s enough of this I think, babe.”

The entire table booed him into submission as Teresa firmly reclaimed her glass, keeping her eyes on James. “You know what I mean.”

James stared blankly at her but then recognition broke out across his face. “Black market?”

“Yes! You know like---”

“The tracker?”

“At the hotel or--”

“Birdman’s place.”

“That parrot thingie.”

“Kinky!” George drawled, elbowing Guero. “You into that shit too?”

Guero ignored him, laser-focused on Teresa and James whose shorthand convo may as well be their own language. George was charmed but Guero looked less than thrilled. In fact he looked suddenly very sober for someone who was on the tail end of several of the cheapest tequila shots La Paz could provide.

James shook his head. “Didn’t want to risk it. Figured El---uh, figured he would confiscate all of our shit anyway.”

“Probably for the best,” George agreed. “That whack job has enough of his own woo-woo, you know what I’m saying?”

Teresa deflated a little but nodded. Guero laid a hand on her shoulder and this time she didn’t shrug him off. “We don’t need anything fancy, Teresa. It’ll be fine.”

James begrudgingly backed him up. “It’s just like any other business deal.”

Oh, George highly doubted that but the air had gone out of the room a bit as the intrepid trio seemed to all realize at once that they were most likely in over their heads. Nothing worse than a little melancholy ruining a happy hour. It was obviously time for a good ol’ King George pep talk. Super Soul Sunday their asses.

“Listen I know I’ve only known you all for a short while---some just a few hours--but if anyone can get through to creepy crawler, you can. Okay? I mean look, you won me over and that ain’t easy. With Teresa’s diplomacy, James’ tactical skills and Guero’s...” his mind went inconveniently blank and Guero rolled his eyes. George snapped his fingers and pointed triumphantly. “...Guero’s connections, you’ve got all you need. Believing in yourself is half the battle and so on and so forth. You’ve got this.”

“We have to,” Teresa sighed and not for the first time George wondered just what was riding on this meeting. He knew you didn’t knock on the bogeyman of Bolivia’s door for trivial inquiries.

“Nothing a few more shots won’t fix,” he decided, stacking the empties. “Maybe one of those frozen yard drinks? You get to keep the souvenir glass.”

They all turned to him with horrified expressions like the true lightweights they were. On cue Guero’s phone dinged, saving them from actually, god forbid, living it up a little. Guero read the text, relief palpable on his face. “That’s Leo. We’re on for tomorrow morning.”

They all sat up a little straighter, a weight lifted off of their shoulders. Like the late, great Tom Petty said--sometimes the waiting was the hardest part. That slow climb up the rollercoaster scarier than the drops and loops themselves. Hopefully that’d prove to be true for their El Santo carnival ride as well.

“We better get back to the hotel, sober up,” James suggested, focused solely on the mission once again.

It'd been fun while it lasted, George supposed. But something kept pinging in the back of his mind, stopping him short. “Wait, did you say Leo?”

Guero’s face turned strangely stubborn when he looked back to George. “That’s our connect.”

George laughed out loud then, not missing the way Guero winced. _Shit_. He was almost tempted to tag along. If only he really did have a camera crew at his disposal to capture this shitshow. But like any reality producer worth his salt he kept his intel close to the vest and said nothing as James threw some cash on the table to settle their check. Besides, George had already helped where he could, behind the scenes just where he liked it.

“Well. Best of luck to you all. You know where I’ll be and for how long I’ll be there. Don't forget this Fairy Godmother has a meter running.”

“Thank you, George,” Teresa smiled sincerely as she stood, flanked by Bachelors Number One and Two.

He shook his head. “Oh no, darling. The pleasure was all mine.”

He waited until they were halfway to the door to press send on the text, chuckling as they all stopped to read their phones in unison and turn back.

He raised his drink and called over the crowd, “That’s the audiobook for Harry Potter. Little something for you muggles to enjoy on the drive to Chile.”

He watched them until they disappeared out the door, letting the smile slip from his face like a mask. Who knew what the next few days had in store for them, still he hoped for the best for Teresa’s sake. If nothing else, it’d make one helluva story.

Here’s hoping it didn’t end with an unresolved cliffhanger. He hated that shit.

“Line ‘em up, Bilal. The night is still young.”

He’d drink to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up we’ll check in on what the boys were up to while Teresa was busy saving their asses. 
> 
> Until then... THANKS FOR READING.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [insert titanic gif: it's been 84 years.....] Turns out realizing that J&G would likely think Teresa was dead meant I had to reconceptualize this entire thing---whoops--but here I am 7 months later, getting back into the fic of things by finally finishing this. 
> 
> Time to find out what Guero and James were up to in Bolivia while Teresa was busy hallucinating and saving their asses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely Fen, whose deep appreciation for James and Guero shenanigans inspired this fic. I hope this does them justice!

James regained consciousness slowly, suspended for a moment out of space and time. Memories surfaced and receded like waves lapping the edge of a pool but the who and where and why of it all stuck together in his mind like melted candy under a Texas summer sun. He remembered the sound of children’s voices, the smell of chlorine…

...the gunshot before the splash.

The gunfire didn’t trigger his recollection—most of his memories were punctuated with bullets—but the splash did. He remembered now: blood thicker than water and not in the bullshit way that confused shared DNA as a blank check for forgiveness. No, it was in the way a woman’s blood pulsed into a pool, bursting and blooming into her own funeral bouquet.

Bolivia. El Santo. Teresa walking to her death without so much as a look back over her shoulder. A sweet smelling cloth held over his face. Darkness.

( _Choose._ )

Years of sleeping in hostile environments taught him to keep his eyes shut, to give himself time to conduct a stealthy inventory before alerting anyone he was awake.

Head: pounding. Arms: cuffed behind him. Legs: out in front of him on a hard cement floor. Guns: gone. Knife: gone. Phone: gone. Right shoulder: pressed against a wall. Back: resting against—

“You awake back there cabrón? Or are you still catching up on your beauty sleep?”

 _Motherfucker_ —he was cuffed to Guero. Guero, who’d already gotten one girlfriend killed this trip and was trying for a perfect score. The blade of anger was so swift and sharp that it took James a second to register the brittle bravado of Guero’s voice, the thread of tension tying his words together.

He was performing for someone; they weren’t alone. It didn’t surprise him. No way would El Santo miss the chance to play with his new toys. The crazy bastard had already dropped the Judas bomb and then lobbed the “blood sacrifice” grenade after it for good measure.

And Teresa…

He couldn’t think of that or how she’d already overdosed and nearly drowned. How she was nowhere near full-strength for facing whatever the fuck she faced now. She could have just handed _him_ over “to the knife” and been free. Without him around, Teresa and Guero would have had a real chance at escape. As far as Camila would ever know they’d all died in the jungle. There’d be no one left to tell her otherwise.

Teresa hadn’t given him up though. She’d put her own life on the line—again. Instead of getting easier to accept, it only got worse.

( _He never should have told her they were in this together. It was a promise he had never truly been in the position to keep. He’d told her they were in this together and now—_ )

He jerked his chin up as though rousing. “How long was I out?” he asked, voice hoarse from the sedative. “How long has she been gone?”

“That’s what I’m trying to get out of our friends here,” Guero answered, all tense shoulders and false joviality. “But they keep giving me the silent treatment.”

James looked to his left. Standing side by side beyond the cell door stood two masked little girls, probably the same ones assigned to them earlier. He wondered if, wherever she was, Teresa’s child chaperone was still by her side, offering protection as long as she held her hand. He blinked away the thought. It was just as likely that her guardian angel had become her executioner.

“Where’d you take her?” Guero tried again, voice thinned by desperation. “¿La lastimaste?”

The children remained motionless in their silent scrutiny and it wasn’t long before James understood Guero’s agitation. He felt every ounce of condemnation in the vacant eyes of their masked gaze, every second of silence adding to the weight of judgement on the scale. The sedative must still be fucking with him, making the mortar of his mental defenses more vulnerable to those tendrils of guilt rooted deep inside, the ones he kept so carefully dormant in the dark. Now the insidious weeds tested for weaknesses, ready to flourish with the smallest bit of sun or air.

That’s the thing about living in the darkness: some things were better left in the shadows. Some shit did more damage brought into the light.

Guero swore and shifted restlessly behind him. “Fuck. We never should have brought her here.”

James forced his eyes away from the mocking masks to scan the room for anything he could use as a tool or weapon. “To a cocaine death cult? No shit. And we’re only here because of you.”

“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, man.”

James craned his neck, incredulous. “You think we’d fucking be here if Teresa wasn’t trying to save your ass?”

“Yeah, well, Camila didn’t say no, did she?” Guero replied. “She’s desperate for a supplier. Face it, you guys need this just as much as I do.”

“We would have figured something out. But without this, you’d be dead. All of the stealing, lying, ratting everyone out is catching up to you now.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know exactly who you are and after all that shit you pulled, Teresa is gonna figure it out too.”

“Yeah well, seems like she still wants me around, doesn’t it?”

“You’re an idiot,” James bit out and flexed his wrists, testing the strength of the chain. “You get a second chance and what do you do? Force her into this fucked up shit so she doesn’t have to live through you dying again. You think using her as a human shield will save you but it’s just gonna get her killed too.”

“You think she’s already dead?”

James discarded the question as soon as it was asked. Speculation like that was a waste of time. It was better to focus on what he could control instead. “I think we’re no good to her in here. Let's try to break these,” he added, tugging on the chain with a jerk of his wrist. “Pull as hard as you can on three.”

Guero complied but it was no use. Their bones would break before the chains would. That was an option if it came down to it but James considered it a last resort. The chances of survival were slim enough in the Bolivian jungle without a broken hand.  But their list of options was growing shorter by the second.

“What is it with you two?” Guero broke the silence and James’ concentration. “You say you’re not into her but—”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“No I wanna know. What is it then? And don’t say business.”

James swallowed back a retort. Honestly, his relationship with Teresa was something he hoped he never had to define. Defining it made it dangerous. It established expectations. It chose sides. He’d gotten by so far on instinct and calculated risks but lately, the already blurred lines between them had all but disappeared.

( _“It’s okay.”_ )

He tried not to think of their last moments together before Guero’s miraculous resurrection. He made split-second decisions all of the time and no matter how difficult the choice, he accepted the consequences. But when he had looked into her eyes, the answer had been so easy. He had felt so sure. He knew what he was willing to risk, damn the consequences. And now? He wasn’t sure of anything.

“She said you saved her life,” Guero pressed. “Why?”

Part of him wondered what the hell he was thinking. Part of him knew exactly why he had done it.

“Why didn’t you?” James deflected. “Sending her to Epifanio when your stupid ass plan blew up in your face.”

“My _plan_ was to get her out of this life.  Away from people like you.”

“Your plan left Teresa high and dry while you got yourself a cozy deal with the DEA. Your plan got us _here_ ,” James retorted. “And you think you deserve her trust.“

Guero huffed out a breath. “Like you do? If it came down to it, you’d put Camila first. You don’t think Teresa knows that? If you’re looking for a Judas look in the fuckin’ mirror.”

And as though Guero had uttered the magic words summoning the man of the hour himself, El Santo made his presence known with a sarcastic clap of his hands. The children stepped aside to flank him as he spread his arms wide and gazed down his nose with thinly veiled disgust.

“Teresa was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and you two— _heathens_ —cannot even sacrifice your pride?”

“Is she dead?” Guero and James’ words tripped over each other in their urgency for an answer but El Santo only tossed his head and sneered.

“Teresa has chosen her path. So will you.”

On cue the children began to chant in a shared singsong voice but the words were as illogical and violent as one of those old school nursery rhymes and probably just as useless. When they started spouting some cult bullshit about a beetle James had to grit his teeth to hold back his frustration until the words “buena muerte” stole the protest from his throat.

( _He had told her they were in this together. He had told her they were in this together and she was dying alone—_ )

The chanting continued as through deep water, sounding both far away and yet echoing inside of his head, each word building more pressure inside his skull. His thoughts went back to the DEA raid in Galveston and Teresa’s eyes burning bright in their darkest hours—

 _"No,”_ she had said, face fierce with feeling. _“We can do this.”_

“Love is what ignites our glorious flock,” the children recited, looking at both Guero and James in turn. “Let your deeds match your heart. Accept your heart reflects your deeds. Freedom is inside of you.”

“Even a Judas can be pure of heart if he finds the key,” El Santo proclaimed as he backed away from the cell door, waving his finger as if he was conducting an orchestra. “Disciple and Judas, loyalty and betrayal. Two sides of a coin flipping through the air...which will you be?”

( _Choose._ )

James could hardly hear anything over the roaring in his ears. For a moment he didn’t even realize Guero was talking.

“That is a good sign, right?”

The blade of anger returned swift and sharp and James no longer bothered to keep it sheathed. “How is ‘good death’ a good fucking sign?”

( _He was going to kill him. His orders didn’t change with Teresa dead. His mission became that much clearer. He was going to fucking kill him and—_ )

“The beetle?” Guero twisted behind his back, bumping his shoulder in the movement. “It’s a baptism, pendejo. I thought you fucking knew Spanish. They said she’s being initiated not sacrificed.”

The pressure popped painfully, oxygen flooding back to his brain with an almost unbearable rush of vertigo. “She’s alive?”

“Yeah. For now.”

Renewed purpose pulsed back through James’ veins with every passing heartbeat, corralling his racing thoughts and strengthening his resolve.

“Although,” Guero added. “I guess _our_ fate is a fucking coin toss.”

James frowned and replayed their encounter with El Santo in his mind. Now that he could focus, something didn’t add up. When Guero shifted behind him, the movement jolting his wrists, it hit him. Knocking them out had been unnecessary. The chains were unnecessary. El Santo already had them trapped in the cell and at his mercy. If the chains weren’t needed to imprison them, they must serve some other purpose instead…

“It’s a test,” he realized.

To his credit, Guero kept up. “Of what?”

James thought over everything El Santo had said since they had arrived. One theme in particular stood out. “Our worthiness, probably.”

“Well, shit,” Guero replied and James almost had to laugh. It might have been the first time they’d agreed on anything.

He concentrated on what he could remember of the chant, trying to pin down the exact wording. He knew better than to look for a meaning between the lines of a madman’s sermon but he also knew that the key to survival was adapting to the tools you are given.

“What did they say about Judas?” James began to test the range of motion of his arms, dragging Guero’s wrists along like a marionette. “Pure of heart if we can find the key?”

“Something like that.”

James felt a surge of adrenaline as it all clicked into place. The cuff chains were too strong to break but maybe there was another way out. “What if we have the fucking _key_?”

“Like an El Santo escape room or some shit?”

“Can you tell if they put anything on you?” James asked, conducting a closer tally of his person, drawing his legs up to pull the fabric tight across his upper thighs.

“I don’t feel anything,” Guero replied, then stopped short. “Wait, they also said freedom was _inside_ of us. If this is some Saw shit I swear to—”

“I’ve got something,” James interrupted, feeling the distinct pressure of something small against the top of his thigh. “Right side jeans pocket. There’s something in there. Let’s try and reach it.”

“For real?” Guero rushed to move, pulling the chain taut against James’ wrists as they reached in opposite directions.

“My right.”

“Fuck, okay.”

They leaned over, arms working against each other in the small space between them until they finally managed to rearrange their elbows and reach as one toward James’ hip. Their shoulder joints extended as far as they could go but James’ fingertips just barely brushed the seam of his pocket.

“Let’s lean over, get a better angle.”

It took a minute for them to maneuver away from the wall, tilting sideways toward the floor until they laid on their sides back to back. James raised his knee up, trying to shake the key loose or at least slide it closer to the pocket opening. They attempted again from the new position and James was able to eventually work his fingers past the seam.

“Can’t you, I don’t know, rotate your hips more or something?” Guero grunted.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who does yoga to you?” James bitched but did as Guero suggested and had just made contact with the metal key ring when Guero suddenly jerked his wrists in the other direction.

“Wait,” Guero demanded and James swore, his hand dragged out of his pocket by the movement. “How do I know you’re not going to unlock yourself and kill me?”

“For fucks sake.”

“I know you don’t plan on letting me leave Bolivia alive. What’s to stop you from doing the job now with me chained up?”

Deep down, some small, all but forgotten part of him bristled at the insinuation he’d kill an unarmed, restrained man but he'd done it before.  He'd do it again.  That line was crossed so long ago that it was hardly worth mourning now.

“This isn’t about you right now, you get that right? Or maybe you don’t. Why would a rat like you have any concept of loyalty?”

“Loyalty! Like you, you mean? And to who? What a joke. Are you even fooling yourself with that horseshit,” Guero scoffed. “At least I chose Teresa over Epifanio. Camila owns your ass. Don’t pretend any different.”

The barb hit uncomfortably close to home but not in the way Guero thought. He couldn’t know that when it came to Teresa, James had already defied Camila’s orders. He’d already lied on Teresa’s behalf straight to Camila’s face. Shit, he’d _stolen_ from her—just as Guero had stolen from Epifanio. Not in the same way or for the same reasons but motives didn’t fucking matter did they? Actions did. Choices had consequences; consequences that could get both him and Teresa killed, just as Guero’s almost had.

“Loyalty,” Guero spat. “You hide behind it like an excuse. Bet you’ll say the same damn thing to yourself when Camila tells you to kill Teresa next. ‘I didn’t have a choice—I was being loyal.’”

James felt the bitter taste of truth in the words. He already had so much blood on his hands; they were drenched so thoroughly that no element on earth would ever wash them clean. Sometimes he felt like blood permeated his skin on a molecular level, mutating his DNA into someone he barely recognized, haunting him from the inside out.  No matter how badly he wanted to deny it, he knew one day Teresa might haunt him too.  He pushed the tendril of guilt back down into the darkness where it belonged.

“You’re really gonna put Teresa’s life at risk to protect your own…again.”

Guero made a noise as if James had hit him so James knew his aim had been true. Guilt was a powerful motivator. That’s why he rarely allowed himself to feel it.  

Guero’s only response was to silently reach for the pocket once more. This time James grabbed the key ring as soon as he touched it, securing it in his grasp before Guero could have a change of heart. A quick fumbling of fingers later and he’d found the keyhole. The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click. Before he could even contemplate his next move or decide if he’d prove Guero right or wrong, a small clear voice rang out from the cell door.

“Congratulations. You’ve earned an audience to the ritual.”

While they had been distracted, the children had been joined by two armed guards. James quickly unlocked Guero’s cuffs and they stood, following the procession leading down a long hall to a heavy wooden door.

James didn’t see Teresa for a moment when they entered the sanctuary; her body was hidden by the pews. The sight of her sprawled out on the floor, motionless with blood on her forehead stopped him dead in his tracks. He saw El Santo, keeping vigil on the altar steps and for a panicky moment, James thought it was all a trick—the negotiations, the ritual, their escape—all machinations of a bored messiah toying with mere mortals.

But then he saw her chest rise and fall and once he saw it, he wondered why he had ever doubted it. He hadn’t known her long but he knew one thing for sure: Teresa was a survivor. And not by sheer luck like Guero nor trained skill like him. She survived through force of will. Her life was a constant battle but she just kept fighting. She kept getting back up.

She’d get through this too.

“El Santo is right about one thing you know,” Guero spoke in hushed tones but didn’t take his eyes off of Teresa. “One day you’re gonna have to choose. Camila—fuck, this _life—_ is gonna back you into a corner and force your hand.”

James clenched his jaw but didn’t speak. His entire life had always been a balancing act. He’d gotten so good at juggling life’s hand grenades that he wondered for a moment if he'd missed someone pulling a pin. Would he even see it coming before his world was on fire? 

He still couldn't—wouldn't define what was between him and Teresa but he stood watch as the minutes passed, counting her shallow breaths as though his vigilance alone kept the next inhale coming. So much had changed in the last week, their careful equilibrium upended with Guero’s return. He wasn’t sure where they stood or where they were going.

But when she awoke with his name on her lips, it felt like an answer. When her eyes searched for him in the shadows it felt like all those words left unsaid between them might still be understood.

( _We’re in this together._ )

He didn’t know what that meant for them in the future or even what it would mean tomorrow but he knew what those words meant right now.  

Some people thought of loyalty as a chain but James knew. Loyalty was a choice.

“I’m here,” he said and stepped forward into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should rename this "fill it up + roll around"? Thanks to Kat for referring to this fic idea as El Santo Escape Room. Hope you don't mind I gave that line to Guero ;)
> 
> And no your eyes don’t deceive you: there is one chapter left, just a little KG & James epilogue to tie the fic together. Until then...Thank you for reading!
> 
> tumblr: mymostimaginaryfriend


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